


Kink meme fills

by Factoids



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-22 10:41:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6076266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Factoids/pseuds/Factoids
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Assorted fills from VALAR_MOREKINKS over on LJ</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stark family, Modern AU

**Author's Note:**

> Assorted fills from VALAR_MOREKINKS (posted under anonymous because I am too lazy to get a LiveJournal account).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Stark family, Modern AU  
> five times a Stark kid had a rebellious phase;
> 
> (does not necessarily have to be an unsuitable romantic pairing; preferably the +1 is Rickon, whose rebellious phase is him basically going tame and actually being the opposite of a shitty teenager...only to go back to being wild-ass Rickon)
> 
> please make this as crack-y as you wish. long suffering Stark parents is also a must-have. :) (requested by anonymous)

  1. Jon



When Jon goes from serious to surly, teenage rebellion is the first thing in their lives where Robb does not take the lead, and maybe that is part of it. Jon spends less and less time with the family and drops all the sports he’s joined with Robb. At first it is dismissed as simply finding his own way and developing his own interests and then, in what would be an ironic turn if anyone were paying attention, it is overshadowed by Robb’s more obviously concerning changes.

His grades drop and the blowout with Catelyn where he screams that she is not his mother and she responds ‘and thank the gods for that!’ before they both storm out of the room is bad enough to leave the whole family unsettled for weeks and then it all comes to a head when he disappears and uncle Benjen calls them from base three weeks later and tells them Jon has applied for the Army with a fake ID.

  1. Robb



Robb starts coming home late until late becomes early and early becomes not at all. Sansa hears stories from Jeyne and Marge who are both in high school about him and practically every girl in school and eventually the phone calls start. The first time Mr Luwin calls his voice is full of worry and he spews a stream of concerned questions because ‘this is so very unlike him’. By the fifth time he simply states in clipped tones that if Robb cannot refrain from punching his fellow students he will be expelled, no matter how much he considers himself on the right side of an argument.

The summer they are both seventeen is the summer when Robb and Jon are sent to stay with Catelyn’s uncle Brynden who lives on an old ranch in what can only very loosely be described as a village in the Riverlands where there is no TV, no cell-reception, and, to their horror, no indoor bathroom.

  1. Sansa



Sansa’s rebellion is less attention-grabbing than her elder brothers, to everyone’s surprise. In fact, it passes by with little notice from anyone until the middle of summer when it becomes so hot Sansa runs out of excuses and maybe just forgets why she has avoided wearing her adorable new bikini in front of her family. Ned Stark manages to produce a reaction of shock so severe he actually falls off the dock when he spots the explosion of color on his eldest daughter’s back.

There are flowers climbing all over, twisting and curling from hips to shoulders, and colorful songbirds resting on branches and in full flight and the flock that rushes just under her collarbone make him regret not questioning further when she told him that high necked tops were ‘the fashion’. It’s not until they’re in the kitchen later and everyone is dry that he notices the red and white backdrop upon which her tattooed garden is built. It all bursts out from a gnarled old wierwood. When she squares her jaw and declares herself every bit as northern as the rest of them he nearly tears up and Bran and Rickon sit sniggering for much too long at the offended looks on Robb and Arya’s faces when Sansa is sent up to her room with the pronouncement that she is grounded for two weeks, ten days of which they will be spending in their isolated lake house.

  1. Arya



When Arya runs away for a summer with her friends (not a single one of which Catelyn approves of), no one is all that surprised. Bran and Rickon amuse themselves with theories, mostly having to do with her having joined the circus, but occasionally they speculate that she may have gone on a Bonnie and Clyde style crime spree.

“Why couldn’t she just punch a boy at school?” Ned sighs when the first postcard arrives with a glib comment not to let their father read it near a body of water.

“I think she may have run out of boys at school to punch.” There had never been a worried call or a ‘this is so  _ unlike _ her’ about Arya.

Somehow they can’t bring themselves to feel anything but relief when she sends regular updates (sans locations or details) via Sansa and comes back just before term starts with stories of being on tour with Pod and Gendry and a brand new calm they’ve never seen from her.

  1. Bran



By the time Bran reaches 15 rumours about him and one of the Reeds (or both) have abounded for the better part of two years, and when he declares the vague mission the three of them absolutely need to go on, with consent or no, Ned and Cat see them off with exhausted smiles and don’t mention their suspicions of cult involvement until they order Robb and Jon to spend their last free summer tailing their little brother and his strange friends through the wilderness.

     +1 Rickon

When Rickon turns fourteen and his teachers suddenly have nothing but glowing reviews and perfect grades to give them on parents’ evening they are suspicious. Rickon’s teens are something they have been mentally preparing for since even sweet little Sansa had managed to shock them.

“One day we are going to have to bail that one out of jail.” Ned muttered as they walked away from the third meeting they had had about him biting another child in his third grade class.

For the full first year Cat remains convinced he is lulling them into a false sense of security. Every time he brings home a report card or a trophy or volunteers to help his siblings with things he has invariably declared boring the suspense builds but somehow the attitude-shift carries him all the way through to college and Rickon is an adult. He is mature and sweet and sometime while they were waiting for him to act out he grew up.

Then the phone calls start.

The first of it is the message from Sansa they wake up to on a Saturday morning. “Hey, mum, dad. I just thought you should find out now because it will probably get back to you. I bailed Rickon out, he was arrested for attacking Joff last night. I don’t want you to worry, he’s fine. I mean the mugshot looks pretty gruesome but really, after a shower it’s just a black eye.”

It takes years of calls and letters and outlandish rumours to decide that his rebellion wasn’t late, it was the four years they spent waiting for the other shoe to drop.


	2. Kill Littlefinger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Kill Littlefinger. Just kill him a lot. (Prompted by riah_chan)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ria_chan said just kill him a lot so I figured let’s give everyone a shot.

Robert 

“I’ll see you drawn and quartered, whoremonger!”  
He does not need to see it to know the letter in the King’s hand is from Lysa. It is not the one he had carefully crafted for her, it is one that gloats over their love and his trust in her and how he convinced her to dispose of her husband so that she may marry him. A confession from a madwoman delivered by her sister.  
Lady Catelyn Stark had stormed into the throne room only just behind the poor boy who attempted to announce her and delivered his death sentence to the hands of the King himself and the king turned to white and then to purple before he shouted.  
“Guards!” The king manages to snap, harshly, between the insults toward his person. “Get him from my sight.” In this the king wants no justice, he wants vengeance and there is no time to plot or scheme before he is tied behind a horse to be dragged toward the gallows that will be his death.

Cersei 

“Knowledge is power, your grace.”  
“Seize him.” There is no time for him to run or protest before four sets of arms grab him. “Cut his throat.”  
“Your grace!”  
“No, wait, I changed my mind.” He breathes out only to choke when she speaks up again. “Through the heart.” He can only watch with fascination as fine castle-forged steel slides through his torso like butter.  
“Power is power.” The queen drawls as she stares down her nose at the twitching, spluttering mess who dared attempt to intimidate her. “Find someone to clean this up.”

Jory 

"I did warn you not to trust me, you know." He feels himself stiffen, sensing the wrongness of the situation but not the source. His plans have unfolded beautifully. It’s the smug, slightly superior, smile on Varys’ face that gives him pause. He allows himself to be distracted for too long to note where the eunuch’s attention has been drawn before the spear goes flying out of the hand of the head of Stark’s household guard and finds home at the dead center of his throat.

Robb

“I, Robb Stark, king in the North and the Trident, sentence you to die. Have you any last words?”  
“Cat!” Her expression remains the same, calm, almost bored if not for the disgust.

Tywin

“You do not understand the power I hold.”  
“You never had power. You had certain uses and you have outlived them. Remove him.” It takes him days to understand that he is not being weakened. There is no trial forthcoming and no execution awaiting him, he has been buried and forgotten in his cell to be collected and burned when death takes him.

Olenna 

“Where is she?” His teeth are clenched as he sips on the disgusting floral tea the Tyrell chit poured for them both, his cup not having the helping hand of whatever Lady Olenna’s flask contains and his patience running very thin as the old woman smirks at him.  
“Where is who?”  
“Sansa Stark.”  
“Lady Lannister, you mean?” He grinds his teeth. “Oh, I haven’t the foggiest. They say she sprouted wings and flew right out of the holdfast.” Suddenly his anger turns to panic as he realises he is struggling to breathe. “Still, perhaps once she’s pardoned she’ll resurface somewhere warm and full or flowers. Really Baelish, do close your mouth, even someone of your birth should be able to manage table manners. Alla, do fetch your cousins, I believe they were going for a swim and our guest looks warm, he may join them.” Horas and Hobber make short work of dragging him down to the docks and he cannot regain enough mobility to fight his way up to the fading light of the sun.

Lysa 

“I loved you! I gave you everything and it was always Cat! Cat Cat CAT!” He takes a wrong step and suddenly Lysa is no longer between him and the moon door and he sees the mad glint in her eyes before he feels the shove, stronger than he would have thought her capable of, and then only the rushing wind as he falls.

Sansa 

“Alayne, sweetling, a kiss for your father?” His Alayne rises and smiles sweetly at him approaching and pulling something from her sleeve to show him.  
“My name is Sansa Stark.” She shoves his own dagger inexpertly into his gut. Its movement is jagged and her hand shakes as she pulls it out. “My father was Eddard Stark.” The next wound is less shaky but no less painful. “My mother was Catelyn Stark.” She spits the name in his face as she plunges the dagger in again. “You are nothing.”

Arya

“I had a list. It was a long list, full of names that are all gone now, but my sister has been helping me complete it. She says your name should have been first. You started all of it. My father, my brothers, my mother, my sister, me. It was all you and your stupid quest for money and power. My mother asked a Stark not to kill you once, my sister knows you too well, knows me too well too. Brandon should have killed you. Split you neck to groin like he wanted, I guess I’ll have to do it for him.” The slim blade she produces is sharp, glinting in the candle-lit room, first silver then deep red.


	3. jon & sansa, seduction/voyerism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: jon & sansa, seduction/voyerism  
> jon is hired by the crown to paint an oil portrait of the beautifuk sansa stark & he needed the money so he took the job. but he did not anticipate that he would fall in love with the beautiful crimson haided princess...or that she would run away with him. (requested by anonymous)

When he is led into the room where he has spent hours upon hours studying her, he finds Sansa standing on the balcony, doors thrown open as they can only be for a scant few months at the height of summer, staring out over the Godswood. That is how she should be painted, he thinks. She looks unusually somber, there is a melancholia to her expression, and the wind is carrying her hair out and over the railing, long tresses of deep red reaching out to the trees below. A weirwood come to life and longing for her home. She addresses him long after the steward has left them. “Would you take me away from here, if I asked you to?”  
In a heartbeat. He would do anything she asked of him in a heartbeat but he does not say it. Instead he smirks as he sets his supplies up, falling into the tone of easy camaraderie they have built over the course of her sittings. “I serve at your pleasure, your highness.” A teasing lilt, some familiarity she has insisted upon, but never enough to be improper. The liberties taken must always be hers and gods but he needs her to take more or less of them because she has driven him to distraction.  
“I’ve no doubt you could bring me great pleasure.” His head turns just in time to catch her wink. “We could go to the free cities.” She continues, making plans for the trip he will never take her on as she glides back into the room. The changing light turns her from the harsh cold of blood red against white to burnished copper and flushed cheeks. No less beautiful but so much more touchable and he flexes his hand and shifts toward her involuntarily as she reaches up to draw her hair back over her shoulders, baring a long, pale throat. “I’ve always loved Lys.” She sighs, almost wistfully, and pauses long enough for Jon to imagine the princess in front of him in Lyseni garb. “Yi Ti maybe, I hear the God Emperor’s festivals are a sight like no other.” She fixes him with an expectant look. “Where would you take me, Jon Snow?”  
This is not a game that can lead to anything good for him. “I once painted a merchant who swore he would winter no other place than Mantarys for the rest of his life, for there was no view more beautiful than the sun setting over the Sea of Sighs from his mance. I would take you there first to prove him wrong.” She lets out a sweet laugh and her cheeks colour.  
“And when you have shown me off to your merchant friend?”  
“Whatever my princess desires.”  
“Whatever I desire? And if I desired you kiss me?”  
He can hear his one remaining grain of sense screaming that he can say no more. He swallows and does not meet her gaze. “I would do nothing else.” Any attempt he has made at keeping his tone light falls away and he snaps his jaw closed to keep from describing exactly how and where he would kiss her.  
“That is simply not true.” He blinks at her, thrown for a second. “I desire you kiss me and yet there you sit, sketching away.”  
He is at her side almost before she finishes speaking, long before his rationality can take hold, kneeling to place himself face to face with her within easy reach. “I am yours to command, your highness.”  
“Then I command you to love me.” She meets his gaze from so close that he can barely keep her in focus. “I command you to touch me.” She takes his hand and places it at her waist. “I command you to call me by my name.” She kisses his temple and her breath brushes over his cheekbone when she does not pull back to continue to speak. “I command you” She presses a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “to kiss me.”  
His fingers comb through silky hair at the back of her neck as her pulls her to him, tugging her by the grip on her waist she had offered him to the edge of her seat to bring them chest to chest as he kisses her deeply.  
If anyone entered now the king would take his head, but no one has disturbed their sessions yet and as he trails his lips down to her clavicle he finds himself utterly incapable of concern for anything outside the room.  
When he runs his hands over her sides and up to brush his thumbs over where grey silk gives way to creamy skin at her bosom and down again to find purchase at her hips she lets out a purr like a contented cat in the sun.  
His hands find their way slowly under her skirts to stocking clad legs, making their way higher with cautious deliberation as he moves his lips back to meet hers. His fingers are brushing along the delicate stitching of her smallclothes when he registers a noise in the hall a split second before Sansa pushes him away gently, chest heaving and a smile on her lips that makes standing to make his way back to his seat near impossible.  
Rickon crashes into the room before he is halfway and barrels his way through the room to collapse onto the chaise lounge next to his sister with an excited grin and suddenly Jon is the intruder on a family moment.  
“I hit the middle of the target! Ser Rodrick says I’m his best student, Robb and Bran were way older when they got good!”  
“I’m so proud of you, sweetling.” She kisses his forehead and Jon is struck with the sobering thought that whatever daydream they had spent their time in this room in, this woman was to be a queen, a mother to kings. “You’ll be the greatest knight in the realm.”  
“Greater than the Knight of Flowers?”  
“Greater than Aemon the Dragonknight and Barristan the Bold and the Sword of the Morning all together.”  
“And much better than Robb.”  
Sansa lets out a shocked laugh. “Rickon!”  
“Come see me practice! I’m going to beat Tormun today, I know it.”  
“Of course you are. I’ll come down soon, I’ll need a cloak and Jon has to put away his things. Don’t start without me.” And Rickon was gone as fast as he had come. Jon started packing away his supplies.  
“Promise me, Jon.” She starts in the middle of a conversation he doesn’t think they were having.  
“Your highness?”  
“Swear you’ll take me away. In a fortnight, after Rickon’s nameday. We can slip away with all the guests. Swear it.”  
“I swear it.” She kisses him again before she sweeps from the room.  
He makes the arrangements against his better judgement. Somehow he does it all while remaining convinced that nothing will come of it. They do not speak of it again and yet somehow he finds himself assisting the princess up on her horse, a new one he has procured, dressed in the modest garb of a lesser noble, ready to fall in with the Manderly contingent on their way to White Harbor.


	4. Arya/Sansa practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pennylane_4 prompted: Arya is nervous about going down on a girl for the first time. Sansa agrees to let Arya practice on her.
> 
> Warning: contains sibling incest (obviously)

“People keep talking about sex and it’s like I’m the only virgin in the world.”

Sansa lets her worn paperback fall closed and brushes it to the side, resting her head on her hands and giving her full attention to her sister sitting crisscross applesauce in front of her on her bed. “If you don’t want to do it, don’t. No one has rights to anything you don’t want to give.” She says things like that with a kind of vehemence, ever since Joff, that makes Arya think there was more pressure there than Sansa is willing to talk about.

“I do want to. That’s not the problem.”

“Then what is the problem?” 

“What if I’m no good at it?”

“You won’t be.” It’s expressed in such a matter of fact manner that she’s torn between amusement and offence, and Sansa just raises an eyebrow at her betrayed look. For all her manners and courtesies, Sansa’s never been much for coddling and empty reassurance. “No one is ever any good at anything without practice, sex least of all.”

“And how exactly do you propose I practice eating someone out?”

“The same way you practice fighting. Often and diligently, paying close attention to your partner. Trust me, you’ll know when you do something right.”

“But I don’t have a partner. Unless you’re volunteering.” She snaps her mouth shut a moment too late and sets her jaw, bracing herself for the shouting.

“You want to practice going down on me?” 

There is something in Sansa’s tone, or a lack of something. She doesn’t sound disgusted or offended. She just sounds bewildered, and that stops the retort of ‘It was a joke’ before she says it. She settles instead for “Why not?” Which is a ridiculous question with a million good answers, none of which Arya can remember. It’s not that she wants to sleep with her sister, it’s just that now that she’s thought about it she’s finding it very hard to stop thinking about it. Especially when Sansa is looking up at her, deep in thought, and suddenly all Arya can see is her tongue darting out to wet her lips and mascara advert lashes dropping down over electric blue eyes.

“Fine.” She pushes herself up until they’re sitting face to face.

“What, now?” Her mind can’t seem to catch up and it doesn’t seem possible that she just suggested going down on her sister, and even less likely that Sansa, who is about as flexible as your average mountain when is comes to propriety and decency, agreed. What’s worse is that she doesn’t look even mildly disconcerted.  _ Not that Sansa would let me see that _ , she thinks, not without resentment. Everyone says they’ve grown closer over the years, and the fighting did die down once they both found their own places and friends and felt less in competition, but they’re not really close.

“You want to take me to dinner first?”

“Shut up!”

“No, I mean if you want to do the whole wine and dine thing I could go for Italian.” 

When Arya leans across and kisses her, Sansa gives a little squeak that is bizarrely satisfying from her unflappable sister for a moment before she distracts herself with tangling one hand in long red hair and running the other up from knee to the hem of the ridiculous Tweety boxers Sansa sleeps in.

It’s Arya’s turn to smirk when Sansa lets out a small “Oh” as they separate. Her triumph is slightly dampened when Sansa swats away the hand drawing circles on her inner thigh but the way her eyes have gone darker and her smile a whole different kind of teasing stops her from feeling too much disappointment at the momentary interruption of her thoughts on mile-long legs around her ears. “Patience.”

Long fingers curl around the back of her neck and she’s pulled back in for another kiss that feels both more urgent and frustratingly languid and she can feel Sansa smile as she pushes at her shoulder trying to get them into a position where they’re not leaning across what is now far too much space and instead of Sansa falling back she finds herself straddling her, seated in the bowl of Sansa’s crossed legs with neat fingernails trailing their way up under her henley, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Her hands don’t seem to know quite where to go, only that she wants to touch and so keep wandering aimlessly over arms and shoulders and into Sansa’s hair. Sansa’s hands show no such indecision, nor do her lips as she trails kisses down Arya’s neck, nibbling and sucking as they go. Her shirt is already halfway off when Arya thinks to protest that Sansa is the one who should be getting naked.

“We’ll get there, we’re exploring” Is all Sansa answers as she pulls the henley off completely and continues her path down. “Breasts are lovely,” she starts, flicking her tongue over a nipple and sucking lightly, “but don’t make them the center of everything.” 

It’s the same tone she always used when she tried to teach Arya to cook or sew or dance and  _ of course _ Sansa is taking this as an actual opportunity to impart knowledge and all Arya can think about is getting her too flushed and distracted to keep talking, the same way she sometimes feels the near compulsive need to make her laugh, a proper, out loud, unladylike laugh.

This time her nudging at Sansa’s shoulder yields results and she manages to tug the flimsy tank top over her head as she falls back and then Arya is staring down at pale skin smattered with freckles from where she is still straddling Sansa’s hips, shifting around seeking friction. She knows she’s stared too long when Sansa’s arms come up to cover some perceived imperfection and she looks unsure in a way Arya hasn’t seen in years with her bottom lip between her teeth and her shoulders pulling inward.

“I thought we were exploring?” She pushes Sansa’s hands away easily, trailing her own over soft skin and admiring the picture of her sister splayed against the deep blue of her duvet. “Patience, remember?” She leans down to press an open mouthed kiss to Sansa’s mouth before beginning her exploration in earnest.

She moves erratically at first, moving from place to place just wanting to touch and feel and taste everywhere at once, then systematically, mapping every soft sigh and moan she can extract with Sansa breathing out directions of ‘lower’ or ‘higher’ or ‘harder’ or ‘more’.

When she finally hooks her fingers in the waist of Sansa’s shorts and her hips rise to allow them to be removed she feels like she might be vibrating with the anticipation. Sansa moves easily when she tugs her to sit at the edge of the bed and pulls her down for a kiss, reaching up to grab a pillow and placing it on the floor before she lets Arya drop to her knees.

“Any more instructions, coach?” She grins up from her position between lovely long legs, kissing her way up the inside of one thigh.

“Long, slow movements. Don’t be afraid to suck on the clit and use your fingers, open it up.” Sansa falls back onto her elbows and lets her legs spread further apart as Arya presses closer, trailing kisses over neatly trimmed hair and down only just shy of her goal, dragging one finger up between the folds, licking the moisture from it.

When she spreads the folds apart with her thumbs, placing one kiss either side and then dragging her tongue slowly up to circle the clit Sansa gives her what can only be described as a whine and she revels in it, sucking and licking and letting her hand wander as they please, dragging blunted nails over Sansa’s slim abdomen and pinching rosy nipples and grasping at strong thighs and always coming back to her warm center.

Sansa falls back onto the bed entirely, fisting a hand in Arya’s hair when she pushes two fingers inside and drags them hard and slow along the wall until Sansa’s breath hitches and then applies pressure and latches her lips around her clit and sucks. She drinks in the low groan and the crushing of thighs around her head with equal pleasure and slows to lap lazily until Sansa drags her back up on the bed.

There is a split second when she settles on the bed next to Sansa where she is convinced that this is when they’re both going to come back to their senses and do irreparable damage to the relationship they’ve finally managed to cultivate and then Sansa’s lips are back on hers and fingers are pushing under the waistline of her flannel pajama pants and she can’t care about anything else.

Her dismissed worries come back with a vengeance when they are just laying there and she can’t tell which of them is holding on tighter but Sansa is biting her lip again and shrinking in on herself and there were a million reasons why not and she can remember all of them.


	5. Jon/Sansa picture prompt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous prompted with a picture

It’s the sound that alerts him first, the soft thunk and scrape of metal against wood and when her looks up to see the metallic pink of the back of Sansa’s phone-casing obscuring her face he lets out a mildly disbelieving snort and nips harder at her clit, extracting a squeak from behind the phone. “Am I boring you?” he asks, as her hands fall to her sides and her decidedly sheepish face is revealed.   
“I wanted to take a picture.”   
“Now?” She’s been near obsessively documenting her family since they all moved back home, collecting hundreds upon hundreds of pictures from every party, game, recital, dinner, or movie night. Jon has been included, but this is the first time her newfound love of photography has made it into their bedroom.   
“You always look so serious. You’re so deep in thought and far away so much of the time I just wanted a picture that shows you like this; like you are with me. Open and present and smiling.”   
“So you figured your best chance of catching me in a good mood was when I was between your thighs? Can’t fault you there.”   
“I wasn’t planning on showing them to anyone” she continues, as if he hadn’t spoken and he turns his smile into the juncture of her thigh as he sees her lift the phone back up to take another picture even as she keeps explaining herself in that tone where she’s not sure if he’ll be annoyed at her. It almost never fails to amuse him how she’ll tune everything out when she dives into a confession or an explanation and there is no interrupting her until she has said her piece.   
“Them? More than one now is it?”   
“Maybe this one.” He barely has time to see the picture as she flashes the screen at him but he catches a glimpse of miles of smooth skin. “Just to Marge,” He snorts again “and Mya and Randa.”   
“If it makes you happy you can blow it up and hang it over the mantle.” It might be worth it just for Rickon’s reaction next time he comes home from school. He drags his stubbled chin over the sensitive skin on the inside of her thigh and kisses the goose pimples that appear.   
“I love your smile.” She trails a finger along the curve of his lips and he can feel them quirk up at the edges again.   
“I somehow don’t think that’s what people will see in that picture.”   
“Perv.”   
“You want to show pictures of me with my face buried in your cunt to other people and I’m the perv for thinking your naked body might distract from my shaggy face?”   
“To Marge and Mya and Randa. My body, naked or otherwise, is not what they’ll focus on. Besides, there’s nothing inappropriate in this one, those are just for me.”   
“I’m not so sure about Tyrell, but you can do what you want with the picture, tomorrow. Right now I’m going to need you to put that phone down and come back to me.”


End file.
